“And you know we wouldn’t leave you holding the bag for us, sir. We’ve always been straight with you before now, haven’t we?”
Parminter frowned and pulled at his lip some, but after a few moments he sighed and brought out his accounts book. “I’ll mark this down along with the rest. But mind you, don’t abuse the privilege.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No, sir, we won’t.”
“We’ll take care, sir, honest.”
“Wait here while I get some sacks for you to carry your things in.”
When the mayor turned his back and stepped into the storeroom, Billy Madlock winked at Longarm and grinned. “Gonna come over to the saloon later and give us some lessons in poker, Marshal?”
“You’ll be playing tonight?”
“Hey, we got to make some money somehow. It might as well be yours.”
Longarm smiled. “If I can, boys, I might sit in for a few hands.”
“You’re always welcome. You know that.”
The mayor returned and assembled the purchases into four packages. “Mind what I said now,” he warned.
“Yes, sir, we will.” The boys, grinning and poking at one another, took their things out into the gathering dusk.
“Where were we?” Parminter asked. “Oh, yes. I was going to ask you about the arsonist. You said earlier that you had a line on him. May I assume that you’ve arrested him by now?”
“Yeah, well, um …”
Chapter 32
There was something terribly wrong, and it took Longarm half a dozen strides down the middle of the street before he realized just what it was that was so odd here. It was silent.
For the first time in days, for the first time since they’d all stumbled off that Union Pacific coach and made their way to the Jennison Arms, there was no wind blowing.
None. The air was still and silent.
Oh, the cold was as bad as ever. The snow squeaked beneath his boots with every step he took, and that meant the temperature was either below zero or very near to it.
But without the wind to drive the cold through cloth and deep inside the flesh, even a zero-degree temperature reading felt damn near toasty.
And he could hear what was going on around him. Up the street, in the direction of the Old Heidelberg, Longarm could hear the rattly jangle of a badly played piano. Somewhere inside the narrow alley separating two nearby store buildings he could hear the scratching and whining of a stray dog trying to paw a meal out of the refuse it found there. And from somewhere else, Longarm had no idea where, he heard a child’s laughter.
The moan and shriek of a vicious wind were the only sounds of Kittstown he’d had until now. This change was mighty pleasant indeed.
Longarm felt positively jaunty as he tilted the fur hat onto the back of his head—next time he came out he could go back to wearing his favorite Stetson if he liked and the hell with this second-hand soldier-boy affair—and tried to whistle his way along to the railroad depot. But it was simply too damn cold to manage a proper pucker, and his attempts to whistle came off as more of a hiss than a tune. Kind of like blowing out birthday candles in rhythm.
Still, it was almighty comfortable outdoors for a change, and that was enough to boost Longarm’s spirits.
He ambled down the middle of the street. The wind had piled deep drifts most everywhere else, so that unless the shopkeepers had already begun digging paths to their doorways, it was a helluva lot easier to stay far away from walls and buildings, to stay out where the earth had been swept free of snow while the wind was so harsh. Soon he reached the railroad station, hoping by now he might have answers to some of the telegraph messages he’d sent earlier.
No such luck. The telegraph operator was gone again, this time leaving a note saying he would be back at seven in the morning.
Longarm scowled but didn’t bother to snarl. After all, there was nothing he could do about it, and complaining would not bring the man back. Nor was there any real emergency that would justify Longarm going off to drag the fellow back to his key. Best just to accept things the way they were and check again in the morning. In the meantime Longarm celebrated the improvement in the weather by bringing out a cheroot and lighting it. Why, he didn’t even have to cup his hands around the match to keep the flame alive. There was no breeze whatsoever.
All day long he’d been hoarding his smokes, holding back whenever he felt the desire to light up because there was no telling how long it might be before fresh supplies began to reach Kittstown.
Now, if the wind remained calm, it looked like the rails should be open again in … what? A day or two? Likely, Longarm thought.
The railroad would be more anxious than anyone else to get the line clear and functioning once more. After all, their profits came from what they hauled from one place to another, not from what they had loaded onto idle cars.
As quick as they could punch the plows through, they would be moving freight again. And passengers.
Longarm thought about that for a few moments while he stood in the waning sunlight and savored the taste of his smoke.
People would be able to leave Kittstown by rail again. They could leave right this minute if they wanted to go
